


The Barrier Guarding All The Simple Things

by WithallthisDelusion



Category: Filth (2013)
Genre: Dark, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Filthy, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Light Scottish Dialogue, M/M, Murder, Police Officer Bruce, Sex, Slow Build, Suspect Conor, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9942974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithallthisDelusion/pseuds/WithallthisDelusion
Summary: Bruce Robertson, verging on the end of self-destructive humanity, faces the world in all its filthy glory.Drenched in his own desires, Bruce tries to make himself successful and stable in order to win back his wife and child.Drugs, death and little bit of promiscuous love follow Bruce towards Erik. A man caught up in a murder, who finds himself a good enough distraction to make the struggle worth it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keely. My love](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Keely.+My+love).



> My favourite character, ever! Bruce Robertson.  
> Based heavily on the film and the novel by Irvine Welsh.  
> It will follow Bruce's unhygienic nature, although it's a gritty sort of humour.

The dark swollen streets of piss echoed around Bruce as he stumbled drunkenly across the paved alley. His boisterous laugh dying as he clung to the brick wall for support. His stomach heaving up at the heavy intake of more than couple standard drinks. 

Bruce was drawn to the hanging yellow sodium lamps, maneuvering his way around various spilled pieces of rubbish. He became easily distracted by the smudge of shit across the wall as it reminded him of the very same smear left on the door inside the pub he came out from. He let out a laugh at the sight as he pushed off the wall to stagger into the road, becoming overwhelmed by the cars zooming past. 

Bruce stood at the edge of the path, teetering close to landing on the road. He ran his hands down his chest feeling for a wallet, and straightening out his suit and its various layers to protect him from the cold Scottish air. He moved a hand to his arse and flicked over the pockets in his pants. He found the tattered leather and checked his remaining spend for a taxi home. £30 remaining, he flipped his wallet closed and shoved it into his suit pocket. 

With drunken eyes he looked at the street next to him, blinding lights passed by quickly. Burning, constriction, and rapid blinking led to Bruce squeezing the bridge of his nose as he took a step back, overwhelmed by the need for another drink. 

He turned and led himself down another path, heading further into the city center. He shamelessly watched the pissed drunken girls giggle as they passed him, his eyes following their rear as the thought went straight to his semi. He laughed again as he continued walking into the familiar scent of liquor and sweat, straightening himself up for the bodyguard out front. 

Bruce Robertson sat watching the young kids dancing, their energy refreshing as he drank himself into misery. His laugh becoming a startled grimace, his fingers tapping nervously as his thoughts began to haunt him. 

Red sheets, pale skin. The warmth he expected to feel when Bruce pressed a hand to Carole’s waist was forgotten by the dampness settling into his chest when he felt her easily indented fragile skin, easily marked. He traced his fingers cautiously over her stomach as he rolled her onto her back staring at her exposed breasts. Her eyes soulless as they stared far past whatever he was. 

With a long deep breath he pressed his lips against her chest, looking up at her, only the perfectly varnished pearls resting along her neck and a puff of blonde hair styled immaculately able to be seen. With parted lips he mumbled meaningless words into her skin running his hands smoothly along her body. He was startled into stopping his actions when he felt the cold metal ring around her finger as her hand moved along his scruffy jaw. 

“Is this the best you can offer me?” She asked as an after thought, those pale forgetting eyes looking well beyond her husband. 

“Tell me how?” He begged, a choked sob settling deep at the base of his throat.

He was only vaguely aware of a nudge to his shoulder but he couldn’t concentrate. Not when he looked at his wife. With complete control she sat up and stood over him, her neatly styled light tuft of public hair directly in front of his face as he stared up into those eyes that finally met his glare. 

“This isn’t working out Bruce.” She stated, pushing him back into the bed with her foot, easily stepping over him. Bruce watched for the last time as her purely naked body was there before him, before it became wrapped up in a dressing gown as she left. 

He felt a stronger punch to his shoulder as he stared up at the ceiling light above him, the feeling of the soft red sheets disappearing as he felt an ice cold surface, his other hand scratching into a wooden base. The next feeling of a nudge sent him spiraling out of bed as he awoke to a puddle of drool and its warmth spread across his cheek. 

“Sorry fella, you can’t sleep here.” A husky voice grumbled as they moved to yank him out of the seat. Bruce stood as he fumbled for balance leaning heavily against the bar. 

“Wait ah bloudy minet'.” Bruce grunted, as he elbowed off the aggressive brute. He reached for his glass and sculled the remaining drink, then he shrugged comfortably back into his suit jacket. 

He left the club as his tear stained cheeks were frozen by the cold. He wiped at them as he walked back to the main road, this time with the definitive purpose of catching a taxi. 

He fingered at the wedding ring wrapped tightly around his finger as he headed down the street. Thoughts of Carole always made him cry, it left him feeling lonely, only stuck with himself. He couldn’t help but feel the last lingering touch of her foot to his chest. The ice cold skin weighting heavily on his chest, enough pressure to continue to hold him back from ever feeling anything uplifting in his chest again. 

Bruce found a taxi, paid the charge and slipped into his home. 

The empty walls echoing his fears as he staggered to the kitchen, fishing through his pill packets for the perfect one. He yanked out a half filled medical bottle of heroin, with only a moment before slipping a needle into the already pierced opening, and yanking up his shirt sleeve and to push the sharp tip into his vein. 

The laughs returned as he plastered himself against the walls in an attempt to head towards his room. He became fascinated by the scratched wallpaper, the burnt holes and fisted plaster. But eventually his shoes were kicked off somewhere in the hallway and the layers of his suit stripped off around him on the bed as he stared at the familiar ceiling. 

Too easily he closed his eyes and listened to his heart beat. He could imagine it slowing down to a stop, missing every second beat before the lack of oxygen to his brain would make him forget the memories...

____ 

 

The day began and Bruce already wanted to drive a hot knife underneath his eye lids to fiddle with the aching pain in his head. 

He shrugged on a coat that covered most of the sweat stains on his four day old shirt. The tight fabric of his suit pants couldn’t completely hide his rather prominent erection. He fixed himself a line for breakfast and hoped the hard-on would die down without him have to wrap an impatient fist around himself. 

By the time he left his building he had made a mess of the bathroom, developed striking pains in his wrist and was already 20 minutes late to work. Slipping through the Edinburgh police station doors he ventured up the thickly wooden stairs disappearing into the cramped office floor. 

The draft office, built with brick and wood nicely blocked out the sunlight as he sat with a thump into his chair, leaning back and flopping down onto his desk. The room was shared between three other officers, Lennox, Toal and Amanda Drummond. 

Bruce's thoughts began to drift away from the nice brunet he wanked off to this morning, as he began to see his wife’s lips stretched around his dick instaed. With frustration he fisted his hair as he yanked his head of the desk to stare across at his boss at the desk across from him. The man was dreamily flicking through case files, with an air of superior arrogance. 

With a grunt Bruce dropped his head back to the desk, only escaping a second before Lennox barged into the office, presenting a large stack of documents with a bang to the desk. 

Bruce shot up, with a squint of vengeance in his eye as he glared at the young police officer. Who was fitted with a new haircut that revealed half of his scalp to the world. An obnoxious bump stuck out of his head, where the skull must have been pushed out when the poor fucker couldn’t face the world outside his mothers cunt. 

“Bruce, where have you been? There's a new incident. We’ve got people to see.” Lennox grunted, flicking open the pages before him. 

Bruce watched, knowing Lennox was absolutely pissed at his arrival. Probably because Lennox would have been paired with the new office Amanda Drummond, some blonde bitch. But Lennox couldn’t afford to be picky, the young fucker hadn’t even got himself a decent name around here in all his four years of work. 

“Gimme’ a fuckin’ break, Lennox.” Bruce grumbled as he purposely avoided looking at the papers in front of him. 

Lennox sighed and stared at him unbelieving, “Bruce, do you’re job. Come on.” He said, his voice wavering slightly. 

“Fuck Ouff!” Bruce gritted behind his teeth as he stood from the desk to march down the white painted wall, into the bathroom. He found a stall and shut the door behind him running a hand down his face. He sat on the toilet and stared at the graffiti staining the door. ‘LENNOX the CUNT’ it read. He smiled at his own masterpiece before releasing an ugly dark laugh. It was venomous as it echoed in empty the tiled room.

He stood and made his way to the sinks, his teeth glinting in the mirror. He ran a hand along his overgrown stumble, that had taken his naturally orange look beside his dye black hair. He stared into his own eyes for a long while. Slowly his smile fell into a grimace as the red around his eyes bled into his imagination of swollen bundles of freshly squeezed meat. 

With a splash of water to his face, Bruce left the bathroom. Walking towards Lennox who sat in his seat, without a word he grabbed the back of his coat from the desk and yanked the folder off Lennox, Bruce continued to leave the building in favour of beginning the day.

Bruce waiting momentarily before the huffing and puffing Lennox slipped into the passenger side of the police car.  
“Reday?” Bruce smirked at the poor fucker, as he kicked at the pedal, drowning out whatever Lennox was going to say. As they entered the main flow of traffic Bruce banged his palm against the steering wheel in frustration. 

“Do you know where to go?” Lennox asked hesitantly. With a glance in the officers direction, Bruce grunted in response. “You can take Leonard’s Street.” He offered. 

Bruce steered the car down another street, speeding towards an unknown direction. Lennox gave brief precise directions.  
They arrived at a small house, layered by colourful flowers that were dampened by the morning rain. Bruce and Lennox parked half way up the gutter and moved towards the door. 

“Suspect or witnesses?” Bruce asked as he drummed his fist into the worn wood, clips of wood scrapping up into his knuckles. 

“Witness, Mary Whittaker. The murder happened across the street.” Lennox informed, pointing behind them to a police guarded food chain restaurant. Seeing it for the first time, Bruce acted indifferent, Lennox continued “A body, one of the neighbours was identified.” They awaited Ms Whittaker. 

Mary Whittaker invited the officers into her home, the only available seats being an old piano stood and a series of foldable plastic chairs. Bruce sat unhappily watching the older woman fiddle with the front buttons her blouse. 

Lennox knew the questions to ask, Bruce knew lies when they were told. 

Ms Whittaker had began to spiral into a self-interested conversation about the negativity of fast food chains. She was providing a strong point when Bruce shut her up, bluntly. “When as’ the last time yore neighbours brought anyone ome’ or’ sex?” 

Her jaw snapped shut. “Excuse me?” Her face one of horror at the mention of such a vulgar topic. 

“When? Ms Whittaker.” Bruce re-stated, unimpressed. 

She stumbled over her own words for a moment before shuffling insecurely, “Well… Just the night before.” She sighed. “I wasn’t listening in or anything, the walls are paper thin.” 

Lennox sat up right, “Did you see who it was?” he asked. Ms Whittaker nervously shook her head and re-folded her hands in her lap. 

“You sure you doun’t get ouff on it?” Bruce asked again, leaning forwards to catch the look on her face. With a look of vengeful murder Ms Whittaker stood, she huffed and pointed towards the door. 

“Leave. Now.” Her voice strained by anger. 

Lennox stood, easily complying. He was beginning to beg for her forgiveness on Bruce’s behalf when the man himself stood to walk to the other side of the room, pressing his ear against the brick wall. He listening and listened for all the police chatter outside, when he heard none he turned back to their argument. 

“Ms Whittaker, yore’ walls, ae’ thick brick. Ow’ would you know?” Bruce asked, slipping his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth, awaiting her answer. 

The old lady shuffled, her eyes darting between Bruce and Lennox. “I- uh...” 

“Please, Ms Whittaker, someone is dead. This is a murder. It’s ore’ important than yore perverted wanking preferences.” Bruce explained with all seriousness. 

She swallowed down another surge of anger as she turned away from the men and began to ascend the stairs, mumbling threats under her breath. Bruce and Lennox followed as she lead them further in the house, to her room. Filled with various types of cocks and fabrics. She opened the curtain and revealed a clear sight into the neighbours window which gave a pleasant view of the bed and a half empty bottle of lube. 

“Why thank you, Ms Whittaker.” Bruce sweetly said, giving her a smile. Before the woman grunted and closed the curtain. 

“Who did you see?” Lennox asked, shuffling through his pockets for a scrap of paper to write notes on. 

The woman swallowed and cleared her throat. “A man, late 20s or so, maybe 30s. Dark blonde hair, massive thick cock. What else did you want to hear?” She spat. 

Bruce smirked. “Very descriptive, love. Did you open the window a little, to ear’ their moans. Did you ear’ yore neighbour call out anyone’s name by chance?” 

She lifted her head, superiorly. “Erik. Many many times.” She mumbled. 

“No last name?” Lennox asked, writing down the details. Bruce hoped he mentioned the size of the fuckers cock. 

“Maybe… Started with an ‘L’, beyond that I wouldn’t know.” She finished.

Bruce, with a charming smile, “Thank you immensely, Ms Whittaker for yore time, I ope’ you keep listening out for all yore neighbours.” 

The two officers left, as Ms Whittaker, shut the door angrily behind them. Bruce laughed loudly all the way to the car as he gave Lennox a wink, before preforming a violent U-Turn into the carpark across the road. Slipping out of his seat and heading towards the crime scene. Lennox nervously fiddled with his seat belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for spelling, I'm an Aussie.


End file.
